


Ablutions

by notjustmom



Series: Words, Words, Words [219]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Caring Sherlock, Established Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Johnlock Fluff, M/M, Nightmare
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-04
Updated: 2016-06-04
Packaged: 2018-07-12 04:27:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7085656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notjustmom/pseuds/notjustmom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ablutions: noun: uh-BLOO-shuns: the act or action of bathing</p><p>from Merriam-Webster:</p><p>"Ablution derives via Middle French and Middle English from the Latin verb abluere, meaning "to wash away," formed from the prefix ab- ("away, off") and lavere ("to wash"). Early uses of the word occurred in contexts of alchemy and chemistry. The first known use of ablution to refer to washing as a religious rite occurs in Thomas More's The Apologye Made by Hym (1533). Many religions include some kind of washing of the body in their rituals, usually as a form of purification or dedication. The use of the term to refer to the action of washing one's body without any religious significance did not take hold in English until the mid-18th century. In British English, ablutions can also refer to a building housing bathing and toilet facilities on a military base."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ablutions

"I have you, love. Shhh, you are safe."

"Sherlock?"

"I'm here. Can I do anything? Tea, or -"

"A bath? Could you run me a bath?"

"Of course, John." Sherlock kissed him lightly, then went to put the water on.

John sat up and threw his legs over the side of the bed and rubbed his face. He was too old for this. Sometimes it was months, years between nightmares, but there were nights when everything hit; the war, the Pool, the Fall, his return. He tried to stand but his legs weren't ready yet.

"Hey, it's okay, let me?" Sherlock had stopped him from falling with his strong arms.

"I'm sorry."

"No, nope." Sherlock shook his head and helped him walk to the loo, stripped his night clothing from him and settled him into the tub.

"You're not leaving?"

"No, not if you wish me to stay?"

"Please?"

Sherlock nodded, and pulled off his shirt and pants, then slipped in behind him; into the warm, oil scented water.

"Tell me," he whispered. "What was it?"

"I - it was everything, bits of everything -"

"Damn it. I'm sorry, love." Sherlock began his ablutions, pouring a bit of lavender bath gel into his hands, and rubbing it gently into John's shoulder. The shoulder that still ached a bit on rainy days, and twinged on those anniversaries, it held the memories that he wanted to forget. He sighed as he felt Sherlock's fingers, long and comforting, try to take the pain away for him. He breathed in the soft fragrance; felt Sherlock's legs locked around him, grounding him, reminding him where he was, that he was safe.

Sherlock's hands roamed, tracing muscles, cleaning, loving him; John sighed, leaned back against him, smiling a bit as he felt Sherlock's breath hitch. Sherlock's hands responded, traveling lower, running along John's inner thighs, working upward. They took a shattered breath together as Sherlock grabbed a flannel and washed him, then stroked him, together they watched his body lurch in the water. John stretched his arm up, his fingers found Sherlock's steam damped curls and he felt his lover's lips along his neck, kissing him, letting him know he was loved, cherished and needed.

He stopped then, and moved to sit in front of John, and completed his almost religious bathing of his friend, held his feet in his hands, carefully caressed them, and then lifted them to his lips.

"I love you, John."

John blinked at him and nodded. "I know, Sherlock, I know, my love. I love you more than I can even say."

Sherlock's eyes misted, but he shook his head and smiled. "Come, let me help you up, before the water gets too cold." He got out of the tub, and grinned as he felt John's appreciative eyes run over him. "C'mon, up you get." He took John's hand and helped him up and out, then dried him off, and enfolded him in his arms, pulling him against himself, letting him know how much he was wanted, needed, desired.

"May I take you back to bed, love?"

"Please?"

Sherlock nodded and led John back to their bed, he got in first, then John climbed in after him, and laid down over him, covering him; he felt their bodies become one, as they shared a breath, then stilled. Together they moved; gently, passionately, reminding one another that they were still there, their lips spoke volumes with no words, as they pressed into one another. Questions, answers, poetry and love were shared; their eyes met as John fell apart, and Sherlock followed after him. They sighed and shifted, then drifted off to sleep, a dreamless rest, wrapped in each other's arms.


End file.
